


Brewing

by zulu



Series: Synchronicity [1]
Category: Firefly
Genre: 05-12, F/F, for:voleuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-02
Updated: 2005-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Training House, tea was the balm for all ills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brewing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash Santa 2005.

**Brewing**

If Inara steps down from her shuttle, and stands at the catwalk railing, watching the kitchen's yellow light creeping into the cargo bay, then no time has passed, and Serenity is still whole. If she drifts through the dark, the grease-smeared metal ruining her silk slippers, then the rain outside could be the engine's hum, and the silence inside could be the peace of sleep. Zoe is not awake, dry-eyed, staring at her ceiling, the covers clenched in her fists; Mal is not brooding on the bridge, glaring out at the atmo he desperately wants clear of.

"She's howling," River says, crouched in shadow outside the infirmary. "On the inside, she's a demon, made from dust."

Inara kneels beside her, and places one hand on River's shoulder. Her skin is cold, and the air is chill. "How long..."

"Since the beginning. It's old, like apples. I'm sorry." River looks up, and blinks. "I'm sorry. I don't listen to what I'm saying."

"I will," Inara says. "Would you like some tea?" The balm of all ills, in the Training House. River is, has been, better, and Simon doesn't watch her as closely now. Between that, and the Shepherd's death, there's no one much left to parse her words out for truth.

"I don't want to watch anymore. I don't want to see." River turns her head away. "You never watched, but you saw more."

"Tea," Inara says, and rubs warmth into River's shoulder. She thinks of her parlour in the Training House, lit golden and scented with myrrh. Jasmine vines curled over her windowsills, the flowers flavouring the nights, like the quiet laughter between lovers.

"It wasn't home," River says. She takes Inara's fingers between hers, and twines their hands together, as if she is conducting an experiment. "Tea is an even trade, for answers."

If Inara brings River to her shuttle, like a guest it is her honour to entertain, then Kaylee and Simon aren't together. If Inara serves tea to drive off the quiet and the cold, then they aren't moving, slow, slower, slowest, in tiny increments of friction, breathing gasps into each other's flesh and Kaylee's rough sheets.

If the water, boiling, fills the shuttle with its shrill whistling, and if River's words ramble like the ripple of raindrops on the hull, then no time at all has passed, and Serenity is home.

_end_


End file.
